


Miss DeCourcy 



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Miss DeCourcy, 



A Drama in Four Acts, 



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BY 



Graham Jishmead. 






THE LIBRARY OF 
OOWGRESS, 

Two CoPtw Reosivet 

OCT. \i S902 

CopvwoHT Brmv 

J^^ //- /^ <y ^. . 

0I.AR8 /^XXa No 
COPY B. 



COPYRIGHT 1902 

BY 

HENRY GRAHAM ASHMEAD. 



JOHN SPENCER, 
PRINTER AND BCOKBINDER, 
CHESTER. PA. 



^JJramatls J. e 



ersoncE, 

Eleanor (Dolly) DeCourcy, heiress to a fortune. 

Maud Forrester, engaged to U'cUtei^ Campbell. 

Madge Spencer (Crawford), Amos Dean's grandchild. 

Aunt Sallie Dillard, spinster. 

Rachel Meadows, spinster. 

Frank Lloyd Eldridge, a legatee under conditions. 

Walter Campbell, a friend of Eldridge. 

Amos Dean, aged fanner. 

Mr. Lex, lazvyer. 

Dan Dunn, imbecile lover of Madge. 

Farmer. 



Kiss £Dea 



ourcL 



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ACT I. 



[Scene — Late afternoon in August. "The Cedars," farmhouse of 
Amos Dean, on left of stage, zvith porch. Tlie background presents 
cultivated lands, from which harvest has been gathered. A fence, with 
gate, runs across stage in rear. A large tree, with seat at base, near 
gate, and zvithin the inclosure. When curtain rises, Frank Lloyd 
Eldridgc and Walter Campbell have just entered gate.] 

Campbell. Frank, it was just touch and go. Had you been one 
minute later, we would have missed the train. That is so unusual with 
you,^ who are always punctilliously punctual, that I could not account 
for 1t, nor did I care to speak of the matter in the cars. 

Eldridge. I was so amazed by something I learned to-day, that 
I could be pardoned, I think, for a breach of all rules governing my 
general conduct. 

Campbell. Something amazing? 

Eldridge. Yes, and annoying. 

Campbell. Is there a woman mixed in the incident? 

Eldridge. Two— an old and young maiden, but the eldest is dead. 

Campbell. Then the problem is simplified one-half. 

Eldridge. Mr. Lex, my counsel, advised me not to decide hastily. 

Campbell. Eaw and a woman^ — Frank, that is often a ruinous 
combination for young men. Occasionally that applies to elderly men, 
if they chance to be rich. 

Eldridge. I wish people would not interfere and attempt to ar- 
range marriages for other people. 

Campbell. You don't mean a breach of promise? 

Eldridge. Nonsense ; surely not that. 

Campbell. I have to guess. You are so indefinite in your state- 
ments. You know I will stand by you. 

Eldridge. It is a matter wholly for me to decide. You must have 
heard that mother's eldest sister, Eleanor Lloyd, died recently. 

Campbell. Yes. I heard some curosity expressed as to the dis- 
position of her estate. 

Eldridge. I really did not know that Aunt Eleanor had any con- 
siderable estate. Her will was not to be read until six months after 
her funeral. Things continued just as she left them until now. Her 
will was opened and read to-day. 

Campbell. I trust the old lady remembered you handsomely. 

Eldridge. That depends. Let me tell you something of her. Six- 
ty odd years ago, Aunt Eleanor, who was then a toddling child, was 
playing near an open grate, when her clothing caught afire, and befo're 
aid reached her, she was severely burned ; particularly about the face, 



6 MISS DeCOURCY. 

which left frightful, disfiguring scars. That mishap doomed her for the 
greatest part of her life to isolation. My grandparents gave her su- 
perior education at home, for the girl could not endure the unpleasant 
distinction of her disfigurement. 

Campbell. She was indeed to be pitied. 

Eldridge. When T was born she quarrelled with father because 
he refused to call me Zachariah — that was her father's name. My great 
Aunt Grace, who died childless, made Aunt Eleanor her sole legatee. 
It seems that her estate, with what Aunt Eleanor received from my 
grandparents, has increased enormously, until at her death Aunt was 
worth considerably more than a million. 

Campbell. And you are the sole heir? 

Eldridge. Had she died intestate. You see she had held herseU 
so aloof from us that I never gave a thought to Aunt's money. Mother, 
before her death, was exercised because she believed that Eleanor was^ 
in straightened circumstances and withheld that fact from her relatives, 

Campbell. Thought she had been using the principal, whereas she 
had invested the income with good judgment. 

Eldridge. Exactly. About seventeen years ago a little tot whose 
mother died soon after her daughter's birth, and whose father, an offi- 
cer in the army, had been killed in an Indian outbreak in the Dakotas, 
strayed into Aunt Eleanor's house. The child, instead of being 
frightened at Aunt's disfigurement, clung to her with demonstrations of 
affection. The lonely woman, pleased with the girl's attention, be- 
came passionately fond of the little one. Finally she gained the con- 
sent of Eleanor's grandparents — the tot was named Eleanor also — for 
the child to live permanently with her. - She lived with Aunt until the 
old lady's death. 

Campbell. Who can wonder that the solitary woman grew to love 
that child? 

Eldridge. I'm glad she did. Well, by her will. Aunt has given 
one-half of her estate absolutely to Eleanor DeCourcy — that is the 
pirl's full name — when she attains her majority. The remaining half 
she left to me, coupled, however, with the odd condition that I should 
make Eleanor DeCourcy my wife on or before her twenty-first birth- 
day. My failure to conform to that condition forfeits my interest ir> 
the bequest, which then goes to erect and maintain an asylum for in- 
digent insane single women. 

Campbell. There should be no trouble in finding inmates for such 
an institution. 

Eldridge. Walter, leave such jests for the hack writers for comic 
journals. 

Campbell. I'm ashamed of it. 

Eldridge. You well know I am far from being a wealthy man, 
but certain it is I shall do my own courting and selecting my own wife. 
The chances are that that half million will be sacrificed in the cause of 
man's individual liberty. 

Campbell. Did you visit your Aunt at any time? 

Eldridge. Only twice that I remember, and both times I went at 
her special request. Aunt Eleanor received me in a darkened room, so 
that I did not see her face distinctly. I found her, however, a well 
informed woman and a charming conversationalist. I was abroad 
when she died. 

Campbell. You have seen the girl your Aunt willed to you for a 
wife? 

. Eldridge. Never. Nor is it likely we shall ever meet. She will 
be ot age in about a year. 

/ 



MISS DeOOURCY. 7 

Campbell. Then you need not hurry in announcing your final 
decision. 

Eluridge. But it will be the same a year hence as it is to-day. 

Campbell. Frank, would it not be the wisest course to see what 
fate has to offer you before you reject its present proffer? It's a big 
round sum that is at stake. 

E'ldridge. That is just what Mr. Lex advises. But don't you un- 
derstand? I can not deliberately inspect this girl as I could if a horse 
was offered me under conditions, and if I were not pleased with his 
points, reject the trade. That would be outrageous. But as I am not 
compelled to decide at once, probably it would be well to seek our 
rooms and remove the traces of travel? The ride this afternoon was 
exceedingly dusty. 

Campbell. In that I accept your conclusion without dissent. 
(Enter house by porch door.) (Enter Maud Forrester and Sally Dilr 
lard. Maud carries a book.) 

Sallie. Miss Maud, I am glad you ran out here to-day without 
notifying us of your intention. I thought you were to attend Mrs. 
Remington's reception this evening at the Elms. I imagined Mr. 
Campbell and you would be present, for the newspapers say it will be 
the most brilliant society event of this summer. 

Maud. I presume it will. I intend going to the city by an early 
train to-morrow morning, but at all events I shall not be at the recep- 
tion this evening. 

Sallie. Then Mr. Campbell will not be there. That is evident. 

Maud. I don't know whether he will or not. For all I care, he 
can go if he so desires. 

Sallie. Surely you and he have not quarrelled? Your— 

Maud. Yes, our engagement is off, and I'm glad of it. (Turns 
and puts handkerchief to her eyes.) 

Sallie. Miss Maud, I'm sorry. Mr. Campbell appears to be an 
honorable and courteous gentleman. I am sure he loves yau devoted^. 
Mr. Eldridge, I know, is of that opinion. A tiff, my dear, may drift 
you apart. Think, Miss Maud, what unhappiness that may mean to 
you both. I spoiled my life in that way. 

Maud. It would not matter to me. I don't care anything for 
him. I just think he is horrid. 

Sallie.' You are angry. (Mounts steps of porch.) What I said 
was with the best intentions for you both, for I am interested in you 
both. (Exit.) 

Maud. I'm glad she's gone. (Sits on porch steps.) If .\iint 
Sallie Dillard had continued talking of Walter, I should have cried 
from anger. It isn't because I love Walter Campbell now, for I don't 
care for him the least bit. (IValter enters at porch door.) I don't 
care for him the least bit in the world. 

Campbell. (Advancing to steps.) Pardon me, Miss Forrester. I 
assure you I did not know that you were here. I came rather uncx 
pectedly with Mr. Eldridge for a half day's outing. 

Maud. (Coolly.) I rather expected you would attend Mrs. Ren-- 
ington's reception this evening. {Pause, during z^'hich both exhibit 
embarrassment.) 

Campbell. Your sister, Mrs. Butler, I presume Is in good health? 

Maud. Thanks, Mrs. Butler is quite well. 

Campbell. And your Aunt, Mrs. Huntingdon? 

Maud. My Aunt's health has been excellent since you last saw 
her, which, if I mistake not, was yesterday. (Picks up book; seems to 
read.) • 



8 MISS DeCOURCY. 

Campbell. I do not design to annoy you, Miss Forrester, but 
some one may notice that we are not conversing, and n:?-/ :;peak of it. 
The opinions of Mrs. Gvundy in the country carry more weight witli 
them and are quoted oftener than is the case in cities. 

Maud. This' book is quite interesting. 

Campbell. Is it Jules Verne's "Topsy-Turvy?" You are holding 
the volume upside down. 

Maud. (Tosses book on porch.) I presume I may do as 1 please. 

Campbell. Certainly. You usually do. Let's talk of something 
of little moment. 

Maud. Yes, the weather. That is as interesting a topic as any 
upon which Mr. Campbell and Miss Forrester can converse. 

Campbell. Very well. It has been a charming day. 

Maud. Yes, but I fancy it is rather cooler than is usual at this 
season of the year. 

Campbell. Particularly is that noticeable at this time. 

Maud. I did not allude merely to the present moment. 

Campbell. No. Do you think we shall have rain to-morrow? 

Maud. I cannot forecast the future. I know that weather, like 
individuals, can change very quickly. 

Campbell. Yes. Yesterday was not so chilly as is to-day. 

Maud. Suppose we confine our remarks more closely to the sub- 
ject we agreed to discuss; simply in killing time. 

Campbell. (Aside.) Damn the luck. I had nerved myself to go 
away jauntingly, but this unexpected meeting with Maud is making 
hard lines for me. I wish Frank would come. (Takes letters frovi 
pocket, replaces them, but drops a telegram, zvhich Maud covers zvith 
her skirts.) (Aloud.) I think. Miss Forrester, to-night a week ago 
we had much heavy thunder. 

Maud. I do not remember past weather. As with most things 
that are passed, it lacks interest. Like the sunsets that are no more. 

Campbell. I am not sure, but possibly there is a limit to weather as 
a stimulus to conversation ; certainly when the past must be eliminated. 
I trust to-morrow will be pleasant. 

Maud. I trust so. The patent medicine almanacs, I think, say of 
the season "Likely to be fair and pleasant." (Aside.) I wonder what 
that telegram is about? 

Campbell. I spoke prompted more by desire than from any actual 
knowledge. I detest making long journeys by rail on rainy days. 
Maud. Oh, you are contemplating a long journey? 

Campbell. Why, you see, the firm must send one of its members 
to San Francisco. If I consent to go, I must wire to-night. 

Maud. Are you going? 

Campbell. Very likely to-morrow forenoon. (Feels in pockets.) 
I certainly had that telegram. I don't what I could have done with it. 
But that is a breach of our understanding. We were to limit our re- 
marks to the weather. 

Maud. I don't care whether it is or not. You were to come to 
our house to-morrow morning. 

Campbell. Pardon me. I think not. I was to send for some ar- 
ticles you decided to retain no longer in your possession. 

Maud. And you are going away for an indefinite time without 
seeing me? 

Campbell. You said you never wanted to see me again. But 
really, I did not intend to allude to any topic save the weather. 

Maud. (Takes up lelegravi. opens and reads it.) You have noli 



MISS DeCOURCY. 9 

deceived me in this. You arc going to San Francisco? Walter, it 
says also to Manila, for an absence of a year, at least. 

Campbell. I never deceived you in anything. (Seats himself ou- 
st eps.) I am glad that this opportunity has come when I could telf 
you that, for should we never meet again, I desire to stand, at least, 
fair in your memory. 

Maud. {Moving closer.) You propose to go away and talk coolly 
of standing fair in my memory. Hearts, you know, have been brokep 
by light words spoken only for something to say. Walter, I could not 
sleep last night, I was so unhappy. 

Campbell. I'm glad, Maud. Not that you could not sleep, but, 
that fate has thrown us together that I can assure you before I go that 
I am profoundly ignorant of any act of mine that justified you in an- 
nulling our engagement as you pre-emtorily did. 

■Maud. TelJ me true. Didn't you kiss Kitty Brandon in the con- 
servatory last evening? 

Campbell. No. I merely spoke to Kitty as I passed her in thc» 
crush at Mrs. Meredith's. I was not with her. I was looking for yoij 
in the conservatory, and was astounded when you thrust our en- 
gagegment ring into my hand, and told me all was off between us, and 
that other gifts that had lost their value would await my messenger on 
Thursday morning. You repelled me — refused to hear a word in my 
defense. Until this moment I was wholly ignorant of any cause for 
your act. 

Maud. Walter, I thought I saw you kiss Kitty Brandon, and I 
was beside myself with rage. I have looked forward to to-morrow in 
the hope that this miserable affair could be explained. And now you 
are going away for a year at least. (Weeps.) 

Campbell. {Shozving ring.) No woman but you shall ever wear 
that ring, I mean as my gift. I don't know what to do with it. Let 
me leave it with you, in your keeping? You will? Won't you consent! 
to that? 

Maud. I could only wear it on my hand, as I have done for sev- 
eral months. 

Campbell. You will let me leave it with you? 

Maud. I don't know. It would not mean now what it once did. 

Campbell. (Petulantly.) Then give it to your maid. Do what 
you will with it. (Puts ring in her hand.) 

Maud. I wonlt have it that way. 

Campbell. What can I do with it, then? 

Maud. If you loved me as you said you did, you could put it on 
my engagement finger. I won't take it off. 

Campbell. But if I did that, what then? 

Maud. Why, wouldn't it mean that you forgave me my foolish 
jealousy, and that — 

Campbell. You will still be my promised wife? (Maud slips in- 
to his arms.) 

Maud. When I was a naughty girl and mother had punished me, 
Walter, she would kiss me to show that she had forgiven me my fault. 

Campbell. Am I to kiss you for a like reason? (Maud nods her 
head several times. He kisses her.) 

Maud. I'm so glad you came and compelled me to talk of the 
weather. I would have died if you had gone away without this re- 
conciliation. 

Campbell. Had there been no reconciliation, it would have mat- 
tered little to me had I never returned. I shall not go now. I shall 
wire Charley Woodland, who is all ready, to go instead. This morn- 



10 MISS DeCOURCY. 

ing, when I said in his presence "I would as leave be in"" — well, a warm 
place— "as here" he thought I would be much the better for a short- 
stay in our Eastern insular possessions. 

Maud. I'm so glad you are not going. Walter, did you put that 
ring on my finger? {He docs.) It is all sunshine now. You have me 
awfully mixed with our weather talk. Did you ever meet Dolly De- 
Courcy, Walter? I believe I would be more jealous of her than of 
Kitty Brandon. 

Campbell. I do not know that I ever heard of her, much less that 
I ever met her. 

Maud. Dolly is a charming girl. She and I were chums at the 
Water Gap last year, but I have lost sight of her recently. If you meet 
her, I want you to be polite, but you woif't be more attentive to her, 
nor any other woman, except me, than is absolutely demanded from ?, 
gentleman in society? You won't, will you? 

Campbell. You have heard me whistle — I can't 'sing — "Just one 
girl," and that means you, Maud, when I whistle it. 

Maud. Some one is coming. I wonder if anybody saw us, 
Walter? I forgot that there was another soul on earth but you and 
me. Come. (Takes his hand and exit at right.) Enter Madge, car- 
rying Honwr in hand, through gate.) 

Madge. I've missed Mr. Eldridge. He must have come through 
the wayside gate. Everyone is kind to me here, but Mr. Eldridge is 
kindest of all. I can never repay him for his goodness to me. (Leans 
zvith her hand on trunk of tree.) It was Mr. Eldridge who found for 
me a home at the Cedars. But whenever I try to tell him, he laughs 
and thrusts my thanks aside with a jest. (Eldridge enters from porch, 
sees Madge, goes to her. and extends hands zvhich she takes.) 

Eldridge. Why, Madge, it seems to me that each day adds to your 
Stature. You are becoming a well grown girl, rosy and healthful. 

Madge. I gathered these flowers for you. (Presents them.) I 
am strong and well. I am growing so fast that Aunt Sallie Dillard 
declares she has no time to do anything but lengthen my frocks. 

Eldridge. They are kind to you, Madge? 

Madge. Why, it's just heaven here. I owe all my happiness to 
you. How can I ever repay you ? 

Eldrridge. Never mind that, little one. Grow up to be a true, 
good woman, and I shall be more than repaid for all I have done. 

Madge. But Aunt Sallie Dillard said the other day that you paid 
for my board at first, and for my clothing now. She said I had cost 
you nearly two hundred dollars. I cried all the night long, for while 
I might, I think, return you kindness with kindness, I can never repay 
you that money. 

Eldridge. Don't think about it, Madge. It has given me pleasure. 
So it is not as unselfish an act on my part as you imagine. 

M'\dge. But T was only a waif of the streets. I had no claims on 
you. I was nothing to you. I was never right bad, Mr. Eldridge. 
Why, when that policeman arrested me for taking those apples, I hadn't 
eaten anything for nearly two days. I was starving. 

Eldridge. Yes. Famine had put its stamp upon your face that 
day. I have never asked you, Madge, what you know of your former 
life. If you orefer, vou need not tell me anything, but I think if I knew 
all that you know, I may aid you, as a friend, more than you imagine. 

Madge. ;I will tell you all I know. If I cannot trust you, whom 
can I trust? I am nearly fourteen. I was only twelve when mother 
died. We were dreadfully poor. Mother, while she sewed, for all 
the money we had she earned with her needle, taught me, and I learned 



MISS DeCOURCY. II. 

from her lips much more than I could have done from books. I made 
letters on part of a broken slate, and did my sums. Why, when I went 
to school in the village here last winter, the mistress said I knew many 
things of which others in my class were ignorant. I tried to learn, for 
when I did, it seemed to give mother the only pleasure she had. 

Eldridge. Your mother was an educated woman? 

Madge. Yes. She was gentle in her manner, and her speech was 
so different from the other women in the wretched neighborhood whert. 
we lived that I often shudder now when I think of her and our poverty. 
Often we were without fire in winter, and sometimes we were without 
food for a whole day. 

Eldridge. If I can prevent it, the shadow of your past shall never 
again shadow your future. 

Madge. When mother died, I gave the undertaker her weddmg 
ring and a gold chain and locket she wore about her neck, withm her 
dress. In all our poverty, she clung to those treasures and would not 
part with them. 

/Eldridge. A locket? What was in it? 

Madge. Father's picture. They were his last gift to her. Ihe 
undertaker, for he pitied me. gave me five dollars of the money he re- 
ceived for the sale of the trinkets. When that was gone, I tried hard 
to get something to do. Occasionally I got work, but I was so young 
that no one would give me regular employment. I slept in wagons or 
wherever I could find shelter for the night. I was afraid to die. I 
was starving when I stole those apples. Had you not pitied me, Mr. 
Eldridge, I should have been sent to the House of Correction. 
(Snatches his hand and kisses it.) 

Eldridge. Don't do that, Madge. Have you nothing that is asso- 
ciated with your mother? 

Madge. Yes. The day before she died she hung a small silk bag 
about my neck, telling me never to part with it, and not to open it un- 
til I was a woman grown. 

Eldridge. Have you it still? 

Madge. Yes. There are only papers in it, I am sure. I will show 
you the bag. (.Takes it from her breast.. .Eldridge looks at it atten- 
tively.) ^ „„ 

Eldridge. These initials L. D. are not yours ? What was your 
mother's maiden name? 

Madge. She never told me. Her Christian name was Lillian. 

Eldridge. Do not mention this bag to anyone. 

Madge. You are the only person to whom I have ever shown it, 
and you are the only person to whom I shall ever show it. {Calls for 
"Madge! Madge'.i' from house.) 

Eldridge. Keep my secret and I shall keep yours. 

Madge. Your secret? I know no secret of yours. Mr. Eldridge. 

Eldridge. My secret is how you and I first met. 

Madge. I couldn't tell that. Shame would keep my lips closed. 
{Cries for "Madge' ) I must go now or Aunt Sallie will be cross. 
{Exit by porch door.) , t , , j 

Eldridge. Poor little girl. She does not know that I have learned 
much of her past of which she is ignorant. She has concealed nothing 
from me. Back of it all there is a cruel wrong of which she and her, 
mother were the victims. {Amos Dean enters through gate.) 

Dean. I am glad you are here, Frank. There is no man on whose 
judgment I so rely as yours. I am in sore trouble and I seek your ad- 
vice. .. . 

Eldridge. I will gladly aid you, if in my power. 



12 MISS DeCOURCY. 

Dean. Be seated. (Sits on bench at base of tree.) Frank, I had 
a daughter who grew to womanhood. You did not know that, for 
neither my wife nor I have mentioned Lillian's name for nearly fifteen 
years. She became enamored of a young surveyor, who was then con- 
structing the railroad through this section. He was a bright young 
fellow, and I understood was well connected. I discouraged his at-> 
tention to my child, believing his love ephemeral- — a thing merely of 
the moment, and that he would never wed the daughter of a farmer. 

E'ldridge. What was the young man's name? 

Dean. Philip Spencer. (Eldridge starts.) Finally I forbade his 
visits. Lillian and he continued to meet unknown to me. Several 
weeks after he left this neighborhood, Lillian went ostensibly on a visit 
to her Aunt, a well-to-do childless widow, living in New York. Sub- 
sequently I learned that her Aunt was in California, and her house 
closed at that time. 

Eldridge. I am more interested in your narrative than you 
imagine, Mr. Dean. 

Dean. Lillian was absent three weeks. When she returned, she 
was despondent. She spoke of many things she had seen, but avoided 
mentioning her Aunt, who at times was peculiarly reserved. We as- 
cribed Lillian's silence to that cause. 

Eldridge. You are disclosing this family skeleton at your own 
suggestion, Mr. Dean? 

Dean. Intentionally on my part. Several months after Lillian's 
return, my wife made a disclosure to me that crushed me with the 
shame impending over this household. Lillian declared she was the 
legal wife of Philip Spencer, and in substantiation exhibited a wedding 
ring, which she had not worn until I demanded from her the truth. 
I spurned that as a thing proving nothing — something that could be 
had in the open market. Her marriage certificate, she declared, had 
been mislaid, but she gave the name of the clergyman who had per- 
formed the ceremony. I learned that he had died suddenly the day 
following the purported marriage. The church records were silent, no 
entry of the ceremony appearing therein. In my indignation, I turned 
my daughter from the home of her childhood. 

Eldridge. She may have told the simple truth, Mr., Dean. 

Dean. Yes. When Lillian stood for the last time on that porch, 
she said — I remember every word — "Father, may you live to know that 
you have driven me, a pure but wretched woman, from your doors. I 
am ns free from shame as my own mother." I never saw her again, 
nor did I hear anything appertaining to her since then, until this hour. 

Eldridge. She passed wholly out of your life? 

Dean. Yes. My wife and I never mentioned her. After my 
wife's death, I found that she had still treasured Lillian's first dress 
her first socks, her first shoes, and on the covering of the package she 
had written "Merciful God! can we have wronged our only child?" 

Eldridge. Why do you tell me this now? 

Dean. Because to-day, from the dead past, comes to me an ac- 
cusing voice. Lillian was Philip Spencer's wife. Soon after the mar- 
riage he was assigned to survey a road in the Rockies. He and Lillian 
decided not to announce their relationship until he returned, in a few 
months. Nothing was heard from the surveying party. Lillian had no 
proof of her marriage. 

Eldridge. The little she had you branded as false. 

Dean. The facts are that the party had been snowbound in the 
mountains, and when found by Indians, all were dead but Spencer, and 
he was insane, the result of exposure and privation. Because of his 



MISS DeCOURCY. 13 

infirmity the Indians accepted him as a sacred charge from Heaven. 
About a year ago some of our army officers learned that a white man 
was with one of the Snake tribes. Spencer was then placed in an 
asylum, where in time he recovered his reason, but he was so broken in 
health that he died three weeks ago. Before his death, his statement 
was secured. His papers, which the Indians had preserved because of 
their association with the man whom they held as near to God, dis- 
closed my address. The documents were forwarded, and I receiver' 
them not an hour ago. {Takes out paper.) Here is the certificate of 
Lillians marriage. 

Eldridge. Listen, Mr. Dean, to the sequel of your story. Phi!'-. 
Spencer was my mother's half brother — the only child of grandmother's 
second marriage. In the disposition of grandmother's estate, nearly 
thirty thousand dollars were allotted to him. He never received the 
fund, which still remains in the control of our firm. I was reluctant 
to claim it, and Aunt Eleanor would not. The income yearly, after 
the legal charges were deducted, was invested, and this estate has al- 
most doubled in value. Will you ask Madge to come here? 

Dean. (H'alks fo porch and calls Madge.) What has she to do 
with this matter? (Madge enters from porch.) 

Eldridge. Come to me. Madge. Will you let me examine the con- 
tents of your mother's bag? 

Madge. (Hesitating.) Can I consent without breaking my prom- 
ise to mother? (Takes bag from neck and hands fo Eldridge.) I 
will do it. I trust you. You would not ask me to do a wrong. 

Eldridge. I shall not abuse your faith. I believe in this I am onh; 
carrving out your mother's purpose. (Opens bag and takes out papers.) 
As I thought. Mr. Dean, your daughter Lillian is beyond human con- 
sideratioit, but the child of Philip and Lillian Spencer is already an in- 
mate of vour household. Madge Crawford, as you know her, is actually 
Madge Spencer, your granddaughter. Ye';. Mad"'p. that is true. Your 
mother was Lillian Dean, Amos Dean's only child. 

Dean. Those papers! What are they? 

Eldridge. Letters from Philip to Lillian. Save one, all are prior 
to the marriage. The last was written from Chicago, and is addressed 
to his wife. Th^re '= no mi«'^ino' link in the chain of e\idence. 

Dean. Madge, I was unkind to your mother. I doubted her 
truthfulness— I— (Eldridge walks back of Dean.) 

Eldridge. (Aside fo Dean.) Do not tell her of that misunderstand- 
ing or your cruelty to your daughter. (Aloud.) Madge, your grand- 
father is overwhelmed with the suddenness of his great happiness. 
Comfort him as your mother would have comforted him, were she here 
now. (Madge goes fo Dean and pets him. He seems much affected. 
Enter Campbell and Maud from right.) 

Campbell. Are we intruding? 

Eldridge. No. You have come to witness a happy scene. We have 
inst learned beyond all doubt. Miss Forrester, that our little friend 
Madge is the granddaughter of Mr. Dean, the only child of his daughter 
Lillian Spencer. Madge has been restored to her grandfather to com- 
fort and cheer him in his declining years. 

Maud. (Kissing M.idge.) I'm so glad. Why, it is perfectly lovely. 
You dear little woman, we all rejoice with you. 

Madge. But I do not comprehend it all. (Goes to Eldridge.) In 
finding my grandfather, must I lose you? Will you not be to me the 
same vou have alwavs been? 

Eldridge. It will not make any change in our relationship, Madge, 
you and I are kin. 



14 MISS DeCOURCY. 

Madge. Then I am content. Won't you leave me here for a few 
minutes — I want to think it all over. (All retire through porch door.} 
Yes, but it will make a difference between Mr. Eldridge and me. 
Grandfather must be consulted now about me instead of him. I can't 
help it, but I don't care for grandfather as I care for Mr. Eldridge. I 
wish it had never happened so. {Weeps. Dan Dunn enters, and 
touches Madge on shoulder.) 

Madge. What do you want? 

Dan. Send that city chap away. Send him away. 

Madge. Go home, Dan. Go home, please — (coaxing). Won't 
you, Dan? 

Dan. Send that city chap away, I tell you. 

Madge. There is no one here but me, Dan. You will go home to 
please me, Dan? 

Dan. Yes. (M'^alks through gate and turns.) Send that city 
chap away. Send him away. (Exit.) 

Madge. He will go now without my telling him. (Drops on seat 
by the tree.) I feel as I did when mother died — all alone — all alone. 
(Weeps, as curtain descends.) 



ACT II. 



[Scene — Woods of the Cedar farm. Autumn afternoon; large, 
tree near centre of stage, with protruding roots; fence in rear, showing 
stile; log on right near front. Dolly DeCourcy and Madge Spencer 
are seated on roots when curtain rises.] 

Madge. Are you very tired. Miss Dolly? 

Dolly. I am slightly weary, but not particularly tired. Don't 
worry, Madge, a few minutes rest here and all will be right. 

Madge. I had forgotten that you are an invalid. 

Dolly. Not an invalid. I am gaining strength rapidly each day. 
Probably I have overtaxed myself a trifle this afternoon. But every- 
thing was so lovely. The autumn foliage, sb beautiful in its colorings ; 
the air warm and balmy; while a charming peacefulness pervaded the 
landscape. It all had an influence that has soothed me as though it 
was nature's benediction. 

Madge. You have been quite ill ? 

Dolly. With typhiod fever, Madge, most people are quite ill. Dr. 
Fullerton, I am told, at one time entertained but slight hopes of my 
recovery. 

Madge. I'm glad he was mistaken. Why, I feel as if I had al- 
ways known and loved you, and yet you have been here only two weeks. 

Dolly. And I in turn am glad that you love me, Madge. We 
shall be the best of friends — I have so few friends. My whole life, 
that I can recall — has been passed in the companionship of a sweet old 
lady, who is now dead. 

Madge. And she loved you? 

Dolly. Better than I merited. She was ill several months before 
she died. I nursed her until the last.' 

Madge. That was too great a task for you. 

Dolly. It was my desire. No one ever had a more considerate 
or more generous, loving friend than she was to me. 

Madge. I am sure that nursing was the cause of your illness. 

Dolly. No, it was not. After her death, I was depressed, Dr, 



MISS DeCOURCY. 15 

Fullerton, only a few days ago, said my illness was due to mental worry 
rather than physical exhaustion. Why, she was dead six months be- 
fore my health began to break. 

Madge. And you came here to get strong and well ? 
Dolly. Yes. Madge, dear, I am without any near relatives on 
either side. 

Madge. Mr. Lex, when he was here to arrange for your coming 
to the Cedars, said you were a wealthy young lady. 

Dolly. Don't talk of that, Madge. That is one of the things that 
worried me sorely before my illness. It is true that a large fortune 
has been left to me, but — well, we will not speak of that now. 

Madge. Why, I thought rich people were always happy. {Look- 
ing a round.) I must have mislaid those beautiful autumn leaves I 
gathered for you. Did you notice where I put them ? 

Dolly. No, I last saw^ them in your hand. 

Madge. I know every foot of the ground where we have been. 
If you don't mind. Miss Dolly, you can sit here and rest while I look 
for those leaves. It won't take me more than ten minutes — not more 
than fifteen at the utmost. 

Dolly. I can spread this shawl on the ground. This root will 
do for a pillow. I may possibly fall asleep while you are gone, for I 
am drowsy. 

Madge. {Spreading sJicn^'l, helps Dolly to arrange herself, then 
taps her^ approz'ingly.) There! Now you are comfortable. {Kisses 
her.) Be a good girl and go to sleep. I shall not be long absent. 
{Exit.) 

Dolly. I wish Madge had not recalled those bitter memories. 
I must be more tired than I thought. Forty winks will refresh me. 
{Falls asleep. Eldridgc enters, crossing stile.) 

Eldridge. Just the day of aays for a stroll. I should enjoy this 
outing could I rid myself of that horrid incubus. That infernal be- 
quest will mentally use me up, if I do not speedily reach a final deci- 
sion. {Lights a cigar.) Smoke, it is said, allays irritation and is an 
aid to cogitation. It may help me to the right conclusion. {About to 
seat himself on root, zvhen he notices Dolly.) A woman asleep! Dolly 
opens her eyes.) I beg your pardon. {Throzvs cigar azt'ay.) I did 
not know you were here. I regret that I have disturbed your slumbers. 

Dolly. {Aside.) Frank Eldridge. I know him from the photo- 
graph he sent Aunt Eleanor, at her request, a short time before her 
death. {Aloud.) Really, I have no better title here than you. I was 
resting a moment. I must have fallen asleep. {Attempts to rise.) 

Eldridge. Do not disturb yourself. 

Dolly. {Rising to sitting posture.) You are considerate. I am 
still claiming an invalid's indulgences. Have I met you before. Your 
face is not unfamiliar to me ? 

Eldridge. Let me introduce myself. I am Frank Lloyd Eldridge. 

Dolly. Oh! I'm Dolly DeCourcy. {Frank starts.) 

Frank. Dolly DeCourcy? 

Dolly. (Laughing.) I know one Eleanor DeCourcy, and I have 
heard of Mr. Frank Eldridge. My information relates to a gentleman 
who bears the same name as you, precisely. 

Eldridge. I am that Frank. May I ask you to tell me something 
'Tf Miss Elennor DeCourcj^? I have never seen her. Probably you 
know that her path in life and mine have been strangely crossed re- 
cently. Tell me of her? 

Dolly. Eleanor, I think, is quite nice. That is a woman's word, 



i6 MISS DeCOURCY. 

and is exceedingly elastic in its meaning. But I am prejudiced in her 
favor. 

Eldridge. You know then of my Aunt Eleanor's peculiar will? 
Dolly. What, the extraordinary condition upon which depends 
a fortune? I know that annoys Eleanor. Believe me, she was abso- 
lutely ignorant, until recently, of the harsh term imposed upon you. 
She often wonders if there is no legal way to set aside that part of the 
will affecting yonr inheritance. 

Eldridge. But one. That is to establish the mental incapacity of 
Aunt to execute any will whatever. 

Dolly. (Startled.) That Miss Eleanor Lloyd was insane? No! 
ijever! never that! That must never be suggested. 

Eldridge. You have heard Miss DeCourcy speak of the odd be- 
quest ? 

Dolly. Yes. I know Eleanor's views and desires. As a matter 
of law, Mr. Eldridge, suppose Eleanor should refuse to accept the 
portion given absolutely to her by the will, would the effect not be to 
make Miss Lloyd die intestate as to that, and would it not go to yoi^ as 
the heir at law? , 

Eldridge. Miss DeCourcy must never do that. I should despise 
myself if I received any part of Aunt Eleanor's estate by depriving that 
girl of that which Aunt desired she should have absolutely. 

Dolly. Cannot you credit Eleanor with a like reluctance to de- 
prive you of your birttiright? 

Eldridge. But my claims are based upon consanquinity, whereas 
the girl's is founded upon an unselfish love for the dead woman. She 
gave to Aunt that affection which I withheld. I have given this matter 
much thought. Miss DeCourcy, for I cannot claim that wealth has no 
charms for me, but I am honest enough, I trust, to recognize that this 
girl's rights are superior to mine. She was a toddling child when she 
entered into the lonely woman's life, and that she loved Aunt Eleanor 
without a thought of the money will not admit of auestion. Children 
not only tell the truth, but they act the truth. I never saw Aunt 
Eleanor but twice in my life. 

Dolly. Eleanor did love Miss Lloyd. 

Eldridge. I may never meet Miss DeCourcy. You will. Pardon 
me, but will you tell her what I have said? Particularly as to her .sius- 
gested renunciation of the estate left to her without condition. 

Dolly. She will know. Why do you not meet her, Mr. Eldridge? 
Mr. Lex could arrange such an interview. 

Eldridge. Suppose. Miss DeCourcy, a dotinar old lady had pro- 
vided by her will a husband for you. a man you did not know, should 
you be pleased were that man to call upon you, view you as a possible 
wife, and then at his pleasure refuse to accept the conditions govern- 
ing his inheritance? 

Dolly. But I am not — 

Eldridge. Pardon me. I merely made it personal that you might 
better anpreciate the exceedingly embarra.ssing position in which it 
places Miss DeCourcv, leaving the man wholly out of consideration. 

Dolly. I know it is a source of much unhappiness to Eleanor. 

Eldrtdgf. I would relieve her of that did I know how it could be 
(Iniie without suggesting an insult to her. I cannot forget she was the 
only sun<=bine that ever entered into Aunt Eleanor's life. My con- 
science chide'; me that I was not more attentive. 

Dolly. But you are not a — 

Eldridge. No, I am not a wealthy man. I trust I am a gentle- 
men. Besides, I have never known anyone profit by a mean act. The 



MISS DeCOURCY, 17 

loss in self-respect in such cases always exceeds the worth of the things 
acquired by those means. 

Dolly. But it is you who must act. 

Eldriuge. Mr. Lex, lawyer-like, advises that nothnig should be 
done to-day that can be put ofif until the morrow. Hence, I am drift- 
in"- If at any time before the expiration of the period named m 
Aimt's will, I could meet Miss DeCourcy, without offensively intrud- 
ing upon her, I should Ije pleased to do so. From what you have told 
me, I fear she may act unwisely. I shall strive to prevent her taking 

that step. ,, , , 

Dolly. I reckon she is drifting also. You know ample provi- 
sion was made for her support during the interval between Miss 
Lloyd's death and Eleanor's coming of age. 

Eldridge. The income from half a million well invested is a 
helpful anchor in the hour of trouble. 

Dolly. If it were not for that condition 111 the will, you would be 
enjoying a like income. 

Eldridge. Yes. Do not regard me as a mere interrogation point, 
but may I ask you if Miss DeCourcy ever mentioned why it was Aunt 
Eleanor desired this marriage? She knew so little of me. Then why 
should she fetter that girl, who was everything to her, with this ab- 
surd condition ? 

Dolly. It is to you that it applies, not to Eleanor. 

Eldridge. It is not all one-sided? I could not marry Miss De- 
Courcy unless she consents to be my wife. 

Dolly. (IVitli haughty manner.) You have, then, no doubt as 
to her consenting? . . -n \r ^ 1 

Eldridge. She is likely to resent this disposition by will. Yet she 
might, inasmuch that her refusal carries a penalty for me, deem Aunt's 
reciuest a duty, and for that reason yield, prompted thereto wholly by 
her womanly sympathies, irrespective of any love for me. 

Dolly. Eleanor is not so weak a woman that she would barter 
her future for a shadow. 

Eldridge. I have bungled in presenting my meaning. 

Dolly. Were she to regard your attentions as addressed solely 
to the estate; that she was an encumbrance to be accepted with the 
fortune, might not that cause her to reject your suit? 

Eldridge. I never thought of that. By George! that assuredly 
multiplies the objection?! features of Aunt's bequest to me. Pardon 
me for intruding my personal affairs upon you as I have done. Are 
you staying in this neighborhood? 

Dolly. At the Cedars for a brief season. 

Eldridge. Why, I rni on my way there. I am almost one of the 
family. You have been ill. Let me assist you to the house. 

DoLLY'. I prefer to go alone, Mr. Eldridge. 

Eldridge. Why? Have I been presumptuous? 

DoLLY^ You have been considerate, but your introduction was too 
informal. This chance interview, like Van Winkle's occasional tipple, 
don't count. 

Madge. {Without.) I found them. Miss Dolly. (Enters, sees 
Eldridge. and goes to him, holding out both hands.) Mr. Eldridge! 
I'm so glad you came. You are always welcome. Oh, Miss Dolly, you 
don't know Mr. Eldridge? (Dolly shakes her head.) Miss DeCourcy, 
'-ermit me to present Mr. Eldridge. (They boiy.) That is the first 
time I ever introduced anybody. How did I do it? 

Eldridge. Well. You do everything well, Madge. 

Madge. Mr. Eldridge is the best friend I have on earth. (Aside 



.i8 MISS DeCOURCY. 

to Dolly.) Now you have seen my paragon. That's the word you 
used, wasn't it? 

Dolly. (Aside to Madge.) Yes. (Aloud to Frank.) You have 
a staunch champion in Madge. 

Eldridge. She accords me credit far heyond my merits. 

Dolly. Madge, lend me a helping hand. I fancy when I slipped 
a while ago I sprained my ankle slightly. 

Eldridge. May I offer my aid also. Miss DeCourcy? 

Dolly. (Extending hand to both, rises.) I have rarely heen so 
highly favored. (Limps.) Really, I must rest a moment. (Sits on 
log.) Don't let me delay you, Mr. 'Eldridge. 

Eldridge. Several years ago, while at the Cedars, I was hurt and 
. compelled to use a crutch. I will get it and return presently. (Dolly 
raises hand in dissent.) We will discuss that later on. (Exit.) 

Madge. Mr. Eldridge ! Mr. Eldridge ! He only shakes his head, 
laughs but will not halt. I should have gone in place of him. It is 
not safe for him. 

Dolly. What danger can threaten him? 

Madge. I don't know, but I fear for his safety. 

Dolly. Madge, you have a reason for your fears? 

Madge. Well, then, Dan, Mr. Dunn's eldest son, is an imbecile. 
He follows me about like a big' dog, and will obey my orders generally 
like a dog. But for some cause, he hates Mr. Eldridge, and Dan may 
do him serious injury. 

Dolly. Then Dan loves you and is jealous of any attention to 
you by Mr. Eldridge. 

Madge. I'm only kind to Dan. I pity him. But recently when 
Mr. Eldridge is at the Cedars, I cannot control Dan. 'He was in the 
lane only a few minutes ago. I did not know then that Mr. Eldridge 
was here. 

Dolly. Don't be frightened. Do you know, Madge. I recognized 
Mr. Eldridge from your description, (aside) and Aunt Eleanor's pho- 
togrnph of him. 

Madge. I would rather die than that any harm should come to 
him. Should I not go? I can restrain Dan, if anyone can. 

Dolly. If you think it is best. (Exit Madge.) So Frank Eld- 
ridge, Eleanor DeCourcy and you have met. It was all his mistake. 
He cannot have known that Dollv was his Atmt's net name for me, and 
that others have adopted it, until generally I am known by that name. 
Why should I explain his blunder? I should have m'^de it clear to 
him at first: now I would be ashamed to set him ris-ht. after our con- 
versation. I cannot tell him the exact truth. Chance alone must cor- 
rect the error. He is certainlv attractive, nleasant in address, more 
outspoken and honest than i. I regret tbnt I did not undeceive him. I 
want to command at least his respect. (Enter Campbell and Maud by 
way nf stile.) 

Campbell. I thought certainly that Frank would come. 
•Maud. The family will be disappointed if he does not. 

Campbell. I am not positive that he has any knowledge of this 
nnilting bee next week. I returned from Washington this morning and 
found your note. At his office, I learned that Frank had gone into the 
country for a fortnight, but had neorlected to leave his address. 

Maud. Do vou notice any change in him recently? That vivacity, 
whicli; vvas so attractive in him, is gone. At times he is even morose, 

Campbell. I have noticed that he is preoccupied, but Frank can 
never be morose. 

Maud. What is the matter with him? 



MISS DeCOURCY. 19 

Campbell. I fancy it is that clause in his Aunt's will. 
Maud, 'i'hat was a foolish thing to do. Imagine a girl the sub- 
ject of a legacy. 

Campbell. No wife, no legacy. The poor fellow is denied all 
opportunity to exercise the right of choice. 

Maud. He craves the money, hut not the girl. Is that it? 

Campbell. I presume he would be glad of the money. 

Maud. He is a good soul. I honor him for his kindness to Madge. 
It was beautiful. 

Campbell. The sequel was not less so. Maud, Frank would re- 
nounce that bequest to-morrow if he did not think that would carry 
an implied insult to the girl. 

Maud. Now, if he'd only fall in love and become engaged to an-, 
other woman. Men can get engaged so easily. That would solve the 
puzzle. 

Campbell. If Frank should fall in love, trust us to put up a job 
that ^^■ould end in an engagement all riglit. That would let him out of 
the difficulty, Init it would forfeit the money. 

Dolly. I wish I could steal away without their knowing that I 
had been here. 

Maud. Two weeks ago, I met Dolly DeCourcy. She was coming 
to the Cedars. She is here now\ I thought that if Frank's Eleanor, 
l^eCourcy were only Dolly DeCourcy, he could bless his lucky stars. 
She is charmintr. (Turns, sees Dolly, and goes to her.) The old adage 
holds good. Talk of the angels and you hear the rustling of their 
wings. (Kisses her.) 

Dolly. A limping angel — I sprained my ankle slightly. I am 
waiting for a crutch. 

Maud. Miss DeCourcy, permit me to present Mr. Campbell. 
(They boiv.) Why not make a crutch of us? 

Dolly. Mr. Eldridge has gone to the house for one. 

Maud. (Laughing.) Isn't that funny? Frank waiting upon a 
Miss DeCourcy. Probably you donft know, but an old Aunt left Frank 
a fortune provided he married Miss Eleanor DeCourcy. 

Dolly. I have heard of that. 

Maud. Is she related to you ? 

Dolly. She is exceedingly close to me. 

Maud. Not your sister? 

Dolly. I have no sister. I must tell you that I heard what you 
and Mr. Campbell said, but I did not designedly play the evesdropper. 
I simoly could not get away. 

Campbell. The old adage failed there. The listener does occa- 
sionally hear something good said of her. 

Dolly. Don't let me detain you. I'll come hobbling along pres- 
ently. 

Maud. Isn't that tantamount to a dismissal? Well, day-dayj 
(Dolly shakes her hands to them as they exit.) 

E>0LLY. Fortunately, Maud knows me only as Dolly DeCourcy. 
How selfish I am. I'm not to be comoared with Frank. He thinks 
only of shielding me, whom he believes he never met. Can it be possi- 
ble that there is anv danger to Frank from Madge's imbecile lover? I 
recall reading that the jealousy of the insane or feeble minded generally, 
manifests itself in homicidal impulses, in the desire to slay the person 
of whom they are jealous. Frank must be warned. He'd only laugh 
at our womanly fears. Yet there is danger. (Enter Dan. carrying a 
heavy stick.) That is Dan now. I'm sure of it. He will not harm 
me. (Aloud.) Are you looking for anyone? 



20 MISS DeCOURCY. 

Dan. Madge ! Madge ! Send that city chap away. Send him 
away. 

Dolly. Did Madge go that way? (Points to left stage.) 

Dan. (Acting as if uncertain, then going in direction Dolly has 
pointed , out.) Madge! Madge! Send that city chap away. (Exit.) 

Dolly. He is dangerous. Here comes Frank and Madge. If we 
hasten, we could reach the house before Dan will return, for he will re- 
turn. (Enter Madge and Frank, the latter carrying a crutch, zvhich he 
drops on stage.) 

Madge. (Speaking as if short of breath.) I met Mr. Eldridge re- 
turning. I took a short cut, got caught in a thicket of prickly vines, 
and it was so difficult to get my dress loosened that I almost missed 
him. 

Eldridge. Madge, I think, was trying to tell me of some threaten- 
ing danger from Mr. Dunn's imbecile son. 

Dolly. There is great danger to you. 

Eldridge. But the old saying tells us that threatened men live 
long. 

Dolly. (Rising.) Dan does not threaten. Hence the adage does 
not hold good. Let us go at once. I am ready. (Dan enters. Eld- 
ridge stoops to pick up crutch, and Madge to gather the bunch of leaves. 
Dan runs forward and raises his club to strike Eldridge. zuhen Dolly 
throws her shawl over his head.) Quick! Help! He will break from 
me ! 

Eldridge. I can manage him. Madge and you, Miss DeCourcy, 
hasten to the house. 

Madge. No, he would tire you out. His strength is enormous. 
You and Miss Dolly must go. I can quiet him, if you two will only go 
away. 

Eldridge. I will not leave you, child, to the mercy of that man. 
(Dan is struggling all the time.) 

Dolly. Madge is right. He will obey her and will do her no 
harm. 

Madge. (Taking hold of ends of shawl.) Go if you would not 
have him murder us all. The sight of you, Mr. Eldridge, infuriates 
him. I never told you a lie — I am not telling you one now. I can con- 
trol him if you leave him wholly to me. Now, go ! For God's sake, 
go! 

Eldridge. That would be cowardly in me. 

Dolly. She is right. She will be in no danger. It is your pres- 
ence alone that causes the danger. Come. I can get along without 
the crutch. (She takes Eldridge's hands and leads him reluctantly off 
the stage.) 

Madge. (Drawing Dan to the log, and remoi'ing the shazi'l. ) Now, 
(patting his shoulder) won't you sit here quietly with me, Dan? Thero 
is no one here but you and me, Dan. 

Dan. Madge, send that city chap away. 

Madge. He has gone. You wouldn't hurt me, Dan. You wouldn't 
hurt Madge. You are so good to me, aren't you, Dan? You gather 
leaves for me that are beyond my reach. Don't you remember yes- 
terday (taking his hand and patting it) how you climbed the chestnut, 
in the corn stubble and shook the limbs until I had filled my basket 
with nuts? That was so good in you, Dan. (He nods his head, and 
laughs as if pleased.) 

Dan. Madge, send that city chap away. 

Madge. Dan, lie here by this log and Madge will smooth your 
hair. You'd like that, Dan, wouldn't you? 



MISS DeCOURCY. 21 

Dan. Yes. (Rests against log ivhile Madge sitting smooths his 
hair zvith her hands.) 

Madge. (Looking in direction Eldridge and Dolly ivent.) 1 hey 
liave reached the gate. He will be safe there from Dan. They are on 
the porch. They have entered the house. Safe, thank God, he is safe! 
(Curtain falls.) 



ACT III. 



[Scene — Sifting room at the Cedars. Door in rear left. — Interval 
of a zveck. Mantle rvith large open fireplace. Musket hung on chim- 
ney breast. Small window in rear right, and large windoiv on right 
side. Open door with staircase shozving on left side. When curtain 
rises, the zvomen are seated around a quilting frame, working. Light- 
ning flashes and distant thunder heard occasionally, which continues 
through act.] 

Sallie Dillard. Oh, this is a memorial quilt. 

Maud. What is that? 

Dolly. Years and years ago, I believe they were quite fashionable. 
At all events, in the country.^ 

Maud. But that statement doesn't make me any the wiser. 

Dolly. A memorial quilt is made from articles of clothing con- 
tributed by various persons, each patch having some personal history 
of the donor associated with it. 

Maud. Oh, I understand. Why, Aunt Sallie, (points) that is a 
part of the dress I wore when I first was sent away to boarding school. 
I mailed it to you at your request. I remember if there was ever a 
heart-broken miss in short skirts, I was that girl. (Dolly rises and, 
puts both hands to her back. 

Rachel Meadows. Miss Dolly, if your back is troubling you, \yhy 
don't you try a porous plaster? <1 have heard it said that Mariah 
Thompson, before she was married, was a weakly sort, and she put 
them plasters all around her waist instead of corsets. It done her a 
heap of good. She's been the mother of fourteen. Had twins twice. 

Maud. (Aside to Dolly.) Don't mind her. She is only remin- 
iscent. She is full of such stories. But she's a good old soul. (Dolly 
laughs and scats herself.) 

Rachel Meadows. Law bless us ! That's a piece of your grand- 
mother's frock, Sallie Dillard. How people do keep such things. Why) 
I was talking to old 'Mrs. Nash 'tother day — she was eighty-six last 
spring — when she showed me the socks she knit for her first child. It 
didn't live more'n three months, but as she smoothed 'em out her eyes 
filled with tears, thinkin' of that babe that had died more'n sixty 
year ago. 

Sallie. Talking about Mariah Thompson, when I was a young 
girl, Mrs. Thompson, that's Mariah's mother-in-law, was just drag- 
ging around the house, feeling miserable. I dropped in to see her. 
Old Dr. Jones was attending her. He was doing his best, but he never 
did know much. I persuaded her to take some home-made medicine 
that my great-grandmother gave to Uncle Tom- — ^that's his gun — 
(Points to chimney.) — when he came back from the war of '12, almost 
dead with janders. We always keep some of that medicine on hand. 

Maud. And it cured her? 

Sallie. I sent her a quart bottle of the mixture and told her to 



22 MISS DeCOURCY. 

take a table-spoonfull every two hours. - The next day Mrs. Thomp- 
son died. Don't you think, old Dr. Jones spitefully told some of the 
neighbors that it was my medicine killed her and not his doctoring. I 
haven't spoke to any of the Jones since, and that's nearly forty-two 
years ago. 

Rachel. Why, Sallie, I disremember seeing you at Nancy Steer;> 
funeral. It was just lovely. She was dressed in white, but she kind 
appeared to fall in about the jaws. I'm pretty certain that under- 
taker Brown forgot to put her false teeth in when he 'laid out the 
corpse. He's the most forgetfullest man I ever knowed. 

Dolly. (Pointing,.) Aunt Sallie, isn't that a piece of the dress 
Mrs. Dean wore to the husking bee in returning from which Mr. Dean 
proposed to her? You showed part of it to me the other day and 
told me the story of that proposal. 

Sallie. Yes, and she was very happy in her wedded life. The 
only shadow that came into it was Lillian's secret marriage. If Mar-- 
garet could have lived to know that her daughter had not disgraced her 
family, she would have died without a regret for anything that hap- 
pened during the time she was mistress of the Cedars. 

Rachel. Amos Dean never had pity on those who strayed. But 
he is a just man. 

Dolly. Madge is now the very apple of his eye. He could see no 
fault in her. I am not sure that I could see a fault in her either. 

Maud. May he not be trying to make atonement in his devotion 
to her for his harshness to her mother? 

Dolly. Mr. Dean is an exponent of the austerity characterizing 
the training in Christian households in his youth. Beneath that, I 
think, I have caught glimpses of his inner self, and I am sure that he 
has a kindly and sympathetic heart. 

Sallie. Why, where is Madge. She hasn't taken part in the 
quilting, and she was so active in arranging for it. (Vivid Hash of 
lightning.) Girls, put your needles and scissors away. They will at- 
tract the lightning. Some of you help me carry this frame into the 
kitchen. The gentlemen will soon be here. Mr. Eldridge's room will 
be so full of smoke to-morrow that it will strangle me when I enter, 
it'. {•JVonicn help Sallie and Rachel carry off frame through hall. A 
knock at door.) 

Maud. I'm afraid to go. 

Dolly. I'm not. {Opens door, messenger delivers letter, Dolly 
signs book, and seems to speak to man zvho shakes his head; then closes 
door.) A special delivery letter for Mr. Eldridge. The man refused 
to come in for shelter. What am I to do with it ? 

Maud. Why, give it to Frank. We have stopped work, and it is 
time the men ceased smoking. Tell them so, Dolly. (Dolly ascends 
stair, meets Cam,pbell, seems to speak to him. He shakes head. She 
continues to ascend zvhile Campbell descends.) . So you made her take 
the letter? 

Campbell. Yes. I was thinking — that — (hesitates.) 

Maud. I will owe you a penny. You were thinking? 

Campbell. About Dolly and Frank. They are becoming the best 
of friends. 

Maud. An unconscious attraction. Wouldn't it be jolly to mar- 
ry those two? 

Campbell. You suggested that a week ago. 

Maud. I still think it would be ever so funny if Frank should 
marry a DeCourcy, but not Eleanor DeCourcy ; and Dolly's wealthy, 



MISS DeCOURCY. 23 

I'm told. {Dolly and Frank descend stair.) Let us leave them. That 
will be a point made in the game. {Walk to door of hall.) 

UoLLY. Don't let us drive you away. 

Maud. I've impressed Mr. Campbell for dining room service. 
{Exit Maud and Campbell.) 

Frank. I must hasten to the village and answer this letter by 
wire. 

Dolly. The office will be closed. Besides, the storm will break 
before you can return. {Flash of lightning discloses to Dolly Dan 
Dunn peering in at the ivindow in rear] of right. She turns to Eld- 
ridge in alarm.) You must not go — there is danger to you apart from 
the storm ! 

Frank. You are needlessly apprehensive. 

Dolly. No. You are ignorant of much I know that makes me 
fearful for you. 

Frank. I thank you for that. 

Dolly. There is danger menacing you. Promise me you will not 
go? 

Frank. It cannot be from that imbecile Dan? Why, his assault 
was only a temporary outburst of causeless frenzy. 

Dolly. It was not. He is jealous of you. 

Frank. Jealous of me? 

Dolly. Yes. He loves Madge. Your attention to her has aroused 
in him murderous impulses. 

Frank. Surely you are mistaken. 

Dolly. I am not mistaken. Madge loves you, and this witless 
man has fathomed that girl's feeling for you. His one idea looks to 
your removal. Little more tnan an animal, he knows orily force to 
accomplish his ends. 

Frank. Miss Dolly, I know that Madge loves me, but her affec- 
tion approaches that only which a daughter holds for a parent, noth- 
ing more. 

Dolly. She loves you with a woman's love, which takes no heed 
of years nor circumstances. 

Frank. Not that ! No ! no ! you must not say that ! 

Dolly. You will not go to the village to-night? Put it off until 
the morning. Won't you believe me? The danger is nearer than you 
think. By the lightning flash I saw the face of Dan Dunn at that win- 
dow. It was no longer a human face, but that of a ravenous beast in 
search of its prey. For my sake, you will not go? 

Frank. {Aside, zvalking forzvard.) For your sake! If I dared 
to tell you what you are to me. You would not credit that I could love 
you as passionately as I do on so brief an acquaintance. You would 
resent my proposal as the folly of a weak man. {Aloud, returning to 
Dolly.) Is it not Madge who should be w\irned and means taken to 
protect her from this man? 

Dolly. Dan loves her and will not harm her. But you have not 
answered my request. 

Frank. I will not go, Miss Dolly, if I can put off my answer until 
the morning. May I glance at this letter. {She nods.) Were it mere- 
ly an affair personal to myself, I would not go. But this involves a 
possible loss to another, and whatever is done must be done early on 
the morrow. I regret, but I have no choice. It is imperative that I 
should answer this to-night. {Exit by hall.) 

Dolly. Why could I not go with him ? He will not propose it, 
and I dare not make the offer. The next half-hour will bring to me the 



24 MISS DeCOURCY. 

agony of suspense. {Enter Eldridge, wearing a light overcoat.) You 
are armed? You will heed my warning to that extent, at least? 

Eldridge. In deference to your warning, I have taken that precau- 
tion. Yet I believe that in half an hour you will be amused at your 
fdars for my safety. I thank you for your consideration. {Takes her 
hand.) I will return speedily. (Exit.) 

Dolly. May Heaven prove my fears are groundless. (Dean, 
Campbell and the women enter from hall.) 

Maud. Why, Dolly, where is Frank? 

Dolly. He has gond to the village to wire an answer to that let- 
ter. 

Campbell. The storm will be upon us by that time. Ladies, 
while we were smoking, Mr. Dean entertained us with recitals of some 
of the traditions of this neighborhood. 

Maud. That was unkind, Mr. Dean. We women would have en- 
joyed your stories as well as the gentlemen did. 

Campbell. They were interesting. More so since we were famil- 
iar with the locations where they were laid. 

Rachel. Did he tell of Dick Scattergood's ride? 

Sallie. Because it has associations with a storm, you think of, 
that now, Rachel ? 

Maud. Tell it, Mr. Dean. Dolly and I have never heard it. 

Dean. I will, to please you. Be seated. Dick Scattergood was a 
wealthy, young fellow, who came of age the year ueorge HI was 
crowned, fhert were merry makings that day in the old stone house 
near the bend of thei road yonder, where Stony Brook crosses the high- 
way. Well, Dick was in love with a pretty girl in the village, and one 
night they had a tiff. A heavy storm was coming up as he mounted 
his horse to return. The girl sought to prevail upon him to remair* 
until the storm passed, insisting that it would break violently before he 
could reach his home. 

Maud. Just like a man. He sulked, didn't he? 

Dean. iHave it that way if you wish. Miss Maud. But at all 
events he started. The storm was the most destructive in many years. 
Trees were uprooted by the score. Just beyond this house, Dick, who 
had urged his horse to a wild gallop, rushed into a fallen tree and was 
thrown over the animal's head. He was found next morning, his neck 
broken, and the horse dead, impaled on a limb, which, broken in the 
crash, protruded several feet from the trunk. 

Dolly. That was horrible. 

Rachel. But you have not finished the story, Mr. Dean. 

Dean. The rest is merely superstition. The negroes — we had 
slaves in New York Colony at that time — and many of the whites de- 
clared that the ghost of Dick Scrittergood and his horse were often 
seen coursing along this road in the night time, particularly during un-/ 
usually heavy storms. (Noise of horses feet moving rapidly are heard.) 

Maud. I am frightened. What did the appearance portend? You 
must tell us, Mr. Dean. 

Dean. Superstitious people asserted that it foretold the violent 
death of someone before daybreak. 

Dolly. I do not, I cannot, believe such omens. That which we 
heard was only a belated rider hastening home. (Walks to front. 
Aside.) Should anything happen to Frank, I should go mad. {Madge, 
enters hastily. ) 

Madge. (Looking about the room.) Where is Mr. Eldridge? 
Don't sit as if you were stone images. Answer me. Where it he? 

Dolly. What do you fear for him? What have you heard or 



MISS DeCOURCY. ±5 

seen, girl ? He has only gone to ihe village to send a telegram. He 
will return shortly. 

Madge. You should not have let him go. Dan Dunn has heen 
roaming about these grounds for two hours. I saw and spoke to him. 
I never knew him as he is to-night. I cannot control him. He will 
not obey me. I have tried to lead him home, but he broke from me 
many times and I have lost him. He will do Mr. Eldridge serious harm 
should they meet. He will kill him, for he has the strength of a giant. 
(To Dolly.) You should not have let him go. , 

Dolly. I tried to prevent his going, but he laughea at my fears. 

Madge. Then you should have gone with him. Others may not 
know it, but you cannot hide it from me. Mr. Eldridge loves you and 
you love him. I tried not to believe it, but it is the truth. He will do 
as you wish. Which way did he go? 

Dolly. The path by the wayside gate. I watched him from that 
window. (Pointing to large windozv.) 

Dean. All remain here. Mr. Campbell, the women must not be 
left alone. I will go and meet Frank' 

Madge. No, grandfather. I am the only person Dan will obey. 
He may listen to me. To you, he will not. Why, I know not, but he 
hates you only less than he does Mr. Eldridge. You would only add 
to his frenzy and increase the danger to Mr. Eldridge and yourself. 

Dolly. Madge, I will go with you. You will let me, Madge? I 
think I have the right to go. 

Madge. Dan saw you and Mr. Eldridge through that window. 
(Points to one in rear.) I had him then, I thought, under control, but; 
that sight maddened him. It was then he broke from me. I have 
sought him since, but have not found him. Dan will not hurt me, but 
you would not be safe. (Runs to door, opens it, exits, and closes door 
behind her.) 

Dean. (Starting to follow Madge.) I will go with you, Madge. 

Sallie. {Running in front of him.) Amos, would you endanger 
Madge's life, as well as that of Mr. Eldridge? You know that even 
Dan's parents send for her to control their son when they are power- 
less to do so. Come, let us go to the dining room. Dan has peered 
through that window once to-night. Should he do so again, the sight 
of us here might only infuriate him the more. 

Campbell. Mr. Dean, there is much wisdom in Aunt Sallie's sug- 
gestion. If anvone is to go, I am the one. Dan does not seem to hate 
me. Come. (Takes Mr. Dean's arm and leads him off. All follow 
except Dolly.) 

Dolly. I should go mad to sit there inactive. This chimney 
breast will hide me from anyone looking in through the window. 
(Stands at side of chimney.) No, I must warn Frank at every haz- 
zard to myself. (Feels on mantle.) Mr. Campbell laid his revolver 
here after our target practice this afternoon. (Finds pistol.) It is 
loaded, fortunately. I saw the way Frank went. They will not know- 
that I have gone. (Exit at door.. .Enter Campbell.) 

Campbell. Miss Dolly! (Looking around.) Miss Dolly! She 
is not here. Certainly she can not have ventured forth in search of 
Frank. (Maud peeps in from hall, then runs to Campbell.) 

Maud. Walter. I had to follow you, I am so frightened. I feel 
safer when I am with you. Why, where is Dolly? 

Campbell. Gone, I fear, to meet Frank. She loves him, Maud. 
I have no doubt of that now. 

Madge. Nor have I. She accepted Madge's statement of Frank's 
and her mutual love without denial. She made no effort to hide l.v. 



26 MISS DeCOURCY. 

emotion from us. She even claimed her right to go to Frank. Walter, 
our little comedy will end as we planned it should. 

C.\MPBELL. Unless it shall prove a tragedy. 

Maud. It is outrageous that the authorities permit this dangerous 
imhecile to roam at large. Even Mr. Dean now recognizes that Dan is 
in love witn Madge and is madly jealous of all to whom she in any- 
wise shows attention. 

Campbell. It is that passion that has made Dan a danger to all 
at the Cedars. He saw Frank kiss Madge when he was last here. 
That was the cause of his violent assault on Frank a week ago. 

Maud. This afternoon Mr. Dean kissed Madge in recognition of 
something she did that pleased her grandfather. That then is the rea- 
son Dan now so hates Mr. Dean. 

Campbell. Not even you women are safe in showing affection for 
Madge. Measures must be taken to place that man under proper con- 
trol immediately. (Reaches to mantle shelf.) I put my revolver on 
this shelf this afternoon. It doesn't seem to be here now. Could Dan 
have it? 

Maud. No. It was there an hour ago. I touched it when I got 
one of the candlesticks. We all saw Madge. She didn't take it. It 
must have been Dolly. 

Campp.zll. She is a capital shot with a pistol. If her nerves are 
unshaken, she can make a bull's-eye at thirty paces nine times out of 
ten. Since she would go, I am glad she is well armed. (Noise of a 
blow heard, follozved by a pistol shot.) Listen! Only one shot ! Maud. 
I cannot stand this. I will be back in a moment. (Starts to door. 
Maud runs and catches his coat tails and clings to them.) 

Maud. Walter, I am afraid to be left alone ! You shall not go ! 
(Dean and zvonien hurry in.) 

Dean. I will not skulk here, when Madge may be in danger. 
(Exit by door. Campbell tries to follow, but is held by Maud. Eld- 
ridge enters, carrying Madge, whose face is smeared zvith blood, as is 
the front of' her frock. Dean follows supporting Dolly, ivho carries 
pistol in her hand. Eldridgc kneels on one knee, supporting Madge, 
zvhose head rests on his knee.) 

Eldridge. Quick ! Some of you bring water ! (Maud exits hast- 
ily by hallzvay.) She was struggling with Dan. He struck her down 
in his efifort to free himself from her. (Maud enters zvith basin and 
zvatcr. Dolly kneels and aphcars io apply the zvater to Madge's face. 
Madge moves zvith difRculty.) 

Madge. Mr. Eldridge — is he safe? (Looks up at Eldridge.) You 
are not hurt ? 

Eldridge. No, I am not hurt, Madge, my child. Tell us of your- 
self? How is it with you? 

Madge. I am dying. Dan did not mean to hurt me. Miss Dolly, 
is she here ? 

Dolly. I am here, Madge. Don't you know me? (Takes 
Madge's hand.) 

Madge. Yes. Won't you kiss me. Miss Dolly? (Dolly kissea 
her.) I was angry with you a little while ago, but you will not remember 
that when I am dead. Put your ear near my lips. (She zvhispers to 
Dolly.) You will promise me that, won't you. Miss Dolly? 

Dolly. I do promise you, Madge, dear, but you are not going to 
die — you must not die. 

Madge. Grandfather, you have been good to me, even before you 
knew I was your grandchild. Aunt Sallie has been good to me, also. 
It will please mother to learn how kind you have been to me. 



MISS Df.COURCY. 27 

Dean. I sinned against your mother, Madge. God help me ! My 
sin has found me, and my punishment is greater than I can hear. 

Madge. {Speaking ivith dMculfy.) You have all been good and 
kind to me. (Puts her hand in lildridge's.) But you, Mr. Eldridge, 
have been the kindest of all. You were my friend when I had no other 
friend. I have loved you, I do love you, and I bless you. You will 
not forget me? {Falls back in Frank's arms and dies. Sound of 
stoim — noise of tvind and dashing of rain agai)ist the ivindo^ii's.) 

Dolly. No one can ever love you, Mr. Eldridge, more than Madge 
did, for she gave up her life for yours. (Eldridge. lays ^Madge in 
Dean's arms.) 

Campbell. Frank, where is the murderer? {Lightning flash il- 
luminates the stage. Sound of horses' feet heard, which stop suddenly.) 

Eldridge. He has escaped, I think. Miss Dolly met me as I was 
returning. As we neared the house, we saw Dan struggling with 
Madge. She was striving to hold him from attacking me, for he saw 
us, I imagine, before we saw him. He struck her down in his wild de- 
sire to be freed. As he came towards us, Miss Dolly fired. Dan halted 
<nnd then disappeared in the shrubbery. I brought Madge here in my arms, 
You know the rest. {Knock at door. Campbell opens it and one of 
the neighboring farmers enters.) 

Farmer. Can I get a lantern, Mr. Dean? A dead man is lying in 
the road. I saw the body by the lightning's flash and halted my team. 
{Sho2i.fs iron bar.) J found this near where he lay. 

Dolly. {Hysterically.) Great God! My hands are stained with 
human blood! It is Dan, and I have killed him! (Totters, then falls 
into Eldridge' s arms as curtain descends.) 



ACT IV. 



[Interval of eight months. Same scene as Act IIL Aunt Sallie 
in mourning, and Dolly seated at table.] 

Dolly. Aunt Sallie, it is all arranged as I designed. This letter 
from Mr. Lex informs me that the deed for the Cedars has been exe- 
cuted, and that he will bring it with him this afternoon. To-morrow it 
will be recorded. You are now the undisputed owner of this house and 
its contents. No one can molest you in the occupancy of the farm. 

Sallie. It is your generous gift to me. I cannot thank you. I 
do not know how. Those who had title to the estate at Amos' death 
were as strangers to me, as indeed they were to him. They had no 
associations nor love for the old place that has been my home for 
more than forty years. 

Dolly. You have in addition. Aunt Sallie, the five thousand dol- 
lars which came to you by Mr. Dean's will. 

Sallie. That was made four years ago, after Margaret's death. 
At that time, he was igorant that he had a granddaughter. 

Dolly. Poor, dear Madge. At her death, the estate of Philip 
Spencer, amounting to nearly sixty thousand dollars, I am told, was 
transferred to Mr. Dean by Mr. Eldridge. 

Sallie. But that mattered little to Amos. He never was wholly 
himself after that dreadful night. His mind became almost a blank. 

Dolly. Did he not remember Madge? 

Sallie. Yes, but all else save her death seemed to have been blot- 



28 MISS DeCOURCY. 

ted from his memory. Even his wife's name he was unable to recall, 
nor Lillian's, but occasionally, I think, he knew Mr. Eldridge. 

Dolly. He remembered Madge, you say? 

Sallie. Her grave was the one link connecting him with his 
former life. All else was obliterated. I was as a stranger to him. This 
house, wherein he was born and where he lived for seventy years, was 
so unfamiliar that he did not, know the way from room to room. Yet 
whenever free to act. he would steal off to the churchyard and remain 
there by her grave until we led him home. 

Dolly. I received a letter from Mr. Lex in which he merely stated 
that Mr. Dean was found dead at Madge's grave. I was then in New 
Orleans. 

Sallie. You see, I had to attend to all the business affairs. I had 
gone to New York, and left there during the blizzard in January. We 
were five hours late in reaching the village. When I got home, Amos 
had been missing since noon. 

Dolly. You knew where to search for him? 

Sallie. Yes. He was found dead on Madge's grave, his body 
concealed beneath a huge mound of snow. 

Dolly. For the first time, I learn the particulars of his death. 

Sallie. Do you care to recall these sad memories ? I avoid them 
usually. 

Dolly. Let us avoid them now. Maud Forrester — two weeks 
hence we will know her by another name — and Mr. Campbell will be 
here shortly. They come to rejoice with the mistress of the Cedars. 
You don't mind? I asked them to come. 

Sallie. I'm glad you did. Why, I have almost forgotten to tell 
you that Frank Eldridge — I've known him since he was fourteen^ — ir, 
coming to-day. He is anxious to visit the old place once more. I 
regret that he is going abroad for so long a time. 

Dolly. (Startled). Going abroad? I had not heard that Mr. 
Eldridge contemplated leaving New York. Have you not been misin- 
formed ? 

Sallie. No. Rachel Meadows brought the message from Frank 
to me. Rachel — you remember her — has come into a nice bit of money 
lately. A nephew she raised from almost an infant made a lucky 
strike in Alaska, and left her over twenty thousand dollars. Tom was 
never robust and the hardships of a mining camp killed the lad. 

Dolly. I am glad he remembered the woman who had been so 
kind to him when a child. 

Sallie. I shouldn't tell her sisters that. They ain't glad. They 
were better able to care for the child than she was. Why, the way they 
abuse Rachel since she got that money is scandalous. You'd think 
she was a thief who had stolen from them what should have been 
theirs, and that she should be now in jail. Mr. Eldridge has invested 
Rachel's means with good judgment. She has now a clever income. 

Dolly. She can trust Mr. Eldridge absolutely. 

Sallie. iRachel is awfully worried about his going away. She 
never questions anything he advises her to do. She'd put her head 
into the fire if he told her to. (Glances out side zvindou'.) Why, here 
she comes now. (Rachel passes by zvindozv.) She ran over just be- 
cause she knows Frank will be here this afternoon. (Enters Rachel.) 

Rachel. Howdy do, Sallie. Why, I declare, if it ain't Miss Dol 
ly ! (Shakes hands.)) Things has changed considerable since you was 
here last. 

Dolly. Aunt .Sallie and I were speaking about sad memories. Do 
not let us recall then now. Miss Rachel. 



MISS DeCOURCY. 29 

Rachel. No. I wa.s a thinkin', Sallic. as I came along, that there 
are lots of women born that could jest as well been spared. I don't 
mean old maids like you and me. for we try to make ourselves useful 
in the world in our way. Now what was the use of that old aunt of 
Mr. Eldridge's? The one what made that fool will. They tell me she 
was as rich as cream. Why, she had a nephew that any woman who 
wasn't a born crank should have been proud of — one what would have 
done her credit, and she just willed a pile of money to a girl what wasn't 
a bit of kin to her, instead of givin' it to him. 

S.\LLiE. We, Miss Dolly and I, know all about that will. 

Rachel. Then for her to give Mr. E'Idridge a fortune, as she did, 
provided he'd marry the girl she had set up for life. Why, it was too 
ridiculous. That's all there are al)out it. It is too bad. A better 
man than Frank Eldridge never walked this earth. That's as true as 
scriptur. 

Dolly. Miss Rachel, do you know this. girl? 

Rachel. No, and I don't think much of her comin' in the way be- 
tween Frank and what should have been his'n. I never was married, 
Miss Dolly, but it wasn't my fault. Nobody never asked me. 

Dolly. That is not so singular. Why, no one has ever asked me. 

Rachel. But your time's acomin'. I guess all the proposals of 
marriage had run out when it came my turn to draw. But I'll tell 
you what I've done. I've jest been at 'Squire Smith's office. I had the 
old man draw up my will, and I left every dollar I have M Frank Eld- 
ridge. 

Sallie. You used to say, Rachel, if you had money, you'd do well 
by Ebenezer Chapel. Of course, you wouldn't leave your sisters any- 
thinp- after the wav they've talked about you. 

Rachel. Well, I did think about the Chapel. Sallie. Then I. 
recollected how good and kind Mr. Eldridge was to Madge. He just 
saved that little girl from — ^God knows what. Nobody never he^ird 
him poin' around shoutin' it out to be talked about. You remember 
Pat Gorman, him what got killed in the quarry and left a widow and 
five small children? Yes, you must remember that, Sallie. 

Sallie. I do. It was more than three years ago. 

Rachel. You know Pat's wife — she was a Scotch woman. She 
often went to church. Well, the parson took up a collection for the 
family that footed up a little over twenty-two dollars. The parson, he 
spoke about the large amount what had been raised, in his next Sunday's 
sermon ; then the committee what took the money to the poor widow 
made a long winded report, which was read by the parson to the con- 
gregation : then in the annual report the whole thing w-as told over 
again. You remember it was published in the "Village Sentinel." 

Sallie. Yes, I read it. 

Rachel. Well, when I thought about that I jest concluded that I 
\\ould leave the charity end of my business with Mr. Eldridge, as I 
did my other affairs. By the way, Miss Dolly, don't you know I made 
UD my mind h'^f fall ihat Frank was gone on you. Yes, and that you 
were pone on him. Now I know what I'm talkin' about, and as sure 
as we're livin', you couldn't do better if you searched the wide world 
over. 

Dolly. You must not talk that way about Mr. Eldridge and me. 
Miss Rachel. He might hear it. It would be unpleasant to him, and 
if he were to le^rn that I was present when it was said, it might re- 
flect upon me. I want to hold Mr. Eldridge's esteem at least. 

Rachel. I'll never say nothin' about it if it will worry him. But 
I've a kind of notion that Mr. Eldridge is vastly disappointed about 



30 MISS DeCOURCY. 

somethin'. It jest struck me. Miss Dolly, when I seed you, that may- 
be it was you who hadn't treated that young man exactly right. 

Dolly. What right have I to think that Mr. Eldridge cares any- 
thing for me? You both know that my hands are stained with human 
blood. 

Sallie. What is that? I didn't imagine that such a thought shad- 
owed your life. I know that Frank believes now, as he did that night, 
that twice wi'.'in a week you had saved his life. Miss Dolly, indeed 
you have nothing to regret in that brave act. 

Rachel. I'm only a plain, country bred, single woman, but I 
reckon, that men and women are much alike everywhere, no matter 
where you find them. Suppose'n Frank Eldridge had killed a man to 
save your life, if you loved him before, you'd love him the more, after 
he'd done that for you, wouldn't you? Now jest change places with 
him. 

Dolly. But Mr. Eldridge does not love me. 

Rach-el. I don't know for sure now, but if he didn't last fall, I'm 
a Methodist, and everybody who knows Rr^chel Meadows will tell you 
I'm a hard-shell Baptist, and sot in my ways. 

Dolly. I'm- — well — I'll go to my room. I'll not be long absent. 
(Ascends stair. Rachel and Sallie look after licr.) 

Sallie. She will be the better of a good cry, Rachel. Like you, 
I thought she was in love with Frank last fall. That, I thought, would 
make a happy marriage. 

Rachel. Well, I never did have no experience myself in love mat-, 
ters, so my opinion ain't of no account. But you had, Sallie, and I ex- 
pect you knows. (Maud and Campbell pass by window.) 

Sallie. Don't say anything about this. Miss Maud and Campbell 
are here. (Enter Maud and Walter. Maud carries flowers.) 

Maud. How are you both? (Kisses, then Campbell shakes 
hands.) We are so glad to be here, to congratulate you iDoth on your 
luck. You see. Miss Rachel, we are not ignorant of your good fortune. 

Campbell. In both cases, so justly merited. 

Rachel. Mine would have been better if Tom had lived and got 
home. But where is Mr. Eldridge? 

Sallie. Yes, Mr. Campbell, where is Frank? Was he not on your 
train ? 

Campbell. Yes. Mr. Lex and he are following us. They stopped 
at 'Squire Smith's for a moment, so Maud and I took the short cut by 
the wayside gate. 

Maud. Where is Dolly? She was surely coming? 

Sallie. She is now in her room. I will tell her you are here. 

Maud. No, I will go with you. (Gives flozvers to Campbell.) 

Campbell. I can lay these on Madge's grave while you are with 
Dolly. 

Rachel. If Mr. Campbell don't mind, I will go with him. 

Maud. I'll not be jealous. You two won't talk of anybody but 
Frank. 

R.\chel. I reckon that's nigh the truth. 

Campbell. Miss Rachel, I am at your command. (Offers arm, 
and Rachel and Campbell exit.) 

Maud. Aunt Sallie, I have learned something that makes me want 
to give Dolly a piece of my mind. Why, that girl would be the better 
of a good shaking. 

Sallie. She's a dear, sweet woman. That's what she is. Come, 
Miss Maud. (Sallie and Maud exit by hall and stairs. Eldridge and 
Mr. Lex enter.) 



MISS DeCOURCY. 31 

Lex. 'i1iis is the first opportunity I liave had in some time to al- 
kide to your Aunt Eleanor's will. In two months, Eleanor UcCourcy 
will be of age. If the conditions governing the bequest to you are not. 
complied with shortly, you will be shut out by limitation from any par- 
ticipation in the estate. 

Eldridge. It is a matter of indifference to me. The bequest, so 
far as I am concerned, will assuredly lapse. 

Lex. You do not propose, Frank, to forfeit that princely inher- 
itance ? 

Eldridge. I cannot forfeit what I never had. There are really two 
conditions. 

Lex. Two conditions 

Eldridge. Yes. Miss DeCourcy's consent and mme to the mar- 
riae. Now, as I never saw Miss DeCourcy, and certainly, as I am 
totally unknown to her, there is little liklihood that those conditions 
will be fulfilled. 

Lex. Then I have been misinformed. I understood that you and 
she had not only met but that you were much interested in each other. 

Eldridge. The error is not difficult to explain. I have met a Miss 
DeCourcy, but it was Dolly not Eleanor. There is, I think, a close 
relationship between the two. 

Lex. Oh, that is it. ,W'-11, this Dolly, what of her? 

Eldridge. You were an intimate friend of my parents, and are 
still so to me. Hence, I do not hesitate to tell you, Mr. Lex, that I am 
exceedingly pleased with Dolly DeCourcy. I would esteem myself 
fortunate could T win her for my wife. At one time, I believed she 
was pleased with my attentions. Since Madge's murder she has avoid- 
ed me. 

Lex. I infer then\ that 3'ou are in love with Dolly? 

Eldridge. Yes. 

Lex. And would gladly make her your wife? 

Eldridge. Yes. T do love her. She is so dear to me that I could 
not contemplate marriasie with any woman other than Dolly. You now 
know why the condition in Aunt Eleanor's will is impossible of ful- 
fillment. 

Lex. That is to say that you, Frank Eldridge, are so enamoured 
of the wrong Miss DeCourcy that you are determined to forfeit a half 
million dollars because of your love for her? 

Eldridge. You can state it that way if you like. 

Lex. Haven't you proposed marriage to Dolly? Of course you 
haven't. When a bright, whole-souled, thoroughly good fellow is de- 
termined to make an ass of himself, there is no end to the blunders he 
will commit. 

Eldridge. You are complimentary. I was not a part of Aunt 
Eleanor's estate that she could dispose of me as it pleased her. 

Lex. You are paying a high price for this girl's love, as you will 
have it that way. Take my advice, Frank, as a friend? On the first 
opportunity, tell Dolly you love her and ask her to be your wife. 

Ei dridge. Take this ciear, Mr. Lex. (Hands him one.) Come, 
sit with me on the porch. I have a matter of important business which 
I wish to submit to you, and upon which I desire your professional 
opinion. The associations connected with this apartment are of a 
nature that might distract somewhat my thoughts from the details of 
this business. (Exit Frank and Lex. Maud and Dolly descend stair 
and enter. )\ 

Maud. Dolly, you are absolutely absurd. You cannot be ignor- 
ant of Frank's love for you. 



2,2 MISS DeCOURCY. 

Dolly. He has never told me that he loved me. 

Maud. You never gave him the chance. You are sufficiently a 
woman of the world to know that no man ever proposed unless the girl 
made the opportunity for him to speak of that love. 

Dolly. I would permit no one but you to take me thus to task. 

Maud. I feel like giving you a good shaking. You are endanger- 
ing your whole fuUn-e. Worse than that, you are denying to Frank 
that happiness he sn richly deserves. I came near losing WaJlei 
through my absurd jealousy. The merest chance saved me from my 
foolish act. If I can prevent it, you shall not wreck your life, and 
Frank's, as well. 

Dolly. You have no right to talk so to me. I will not oermil it. 

Maud. Then answer this one question : Do you love Frank Eld- 
ridge? If your reply is in the negative, I will never mention this sub- 
ject to you again. 

Dolly. You have no right. It is impertinent, unwomanly, to ask 
me that. 

Maud. Notwithstanding that I have no right, that I am imperti- 
nent and unwomanly in so doing, I still press the question. 

Dolly. But suppose I — 

Maud. Is it yes or no? 

Dolly. You won't listen to me — there is an impediment — 

Maud. You are not a married woman ? 

Dolly. No. You know that I am not. 

Maud. You are not the promised wife of another man? 

Dolly. No. I will not listen to you further. 

Maud. There are no ties of consanquinity between Frank and you 
that would make a marriage incestuous? 

Dolly. No. Not that. But Maud, you surely cannot forget the 
love Madge gave to him? A love so wholly unselfish that she sacrificed 
her life that his might be saved. 

Maud. You jealous of the dead! Jealous of a child's love for 
the man who acted in a parent's stead to her? 

Dolly. But there is blood upon my hand. 

Maud. Yes, shed for the man you love, in the protection of his 
life as well as your own. Go back to that night. Under the like con- 
ditions presented then, would you do other than you did? It was 
Frank's life or that mad man's — your own life or Dan's. I envy you 
that deed. You are simply striving to find a reason that may justify 
you in the wrong you are doing Frank and yourself. 

Dolly. It is false. I will not listen to you. Leave me ! 

Maud. (Aside.) Yes, to meditation on what I have said. It was 
heroic treatment, but the malady would yield to naught else. {Exit 
by hall.) 

Dolly. {Pacing the staf^c.) It was infamous. It was brutal in 
Maud. I jealous of gentle, loving Madge. It is a base lie. (Pauses 
ns if in thou(iht.) No. It is the truth. God pity me, it is the truth! 
It is I that am a lie. Not one of all here, save Mr. Lex, knows me, 
for what I am. At my own suggestion, I sought the Cedars^ coming 
with the one purpose of winning the love of Frank Eldridge. I know 
now that that was my real motive. Like a curse, I have fallen across 
his path in life. I have robbed him of his inheritance. What other 
wrong will come to him through me, God only knows! (Throivs her- 
self on zvindozv seat. Enter Eldridge and Campbell.) 

Campbell. You have decided? When do you sail? 

Eldridge. Exactly three weeks from to-day. 



MISS DeCOURCY. 33 

Campbfxl. Of course, you know where you will be stationed and 
how long you will be absent? 

Eldridge. My headquarters will be in London, and I will probably 
not return to America for two years, at least. I am to represent a large 
manufacturing syndicate, which will make London its Euroncan dis- 
tributing centre. 

Campbell. You had not this move in contemplation two weeks 
ago, or you would have told me. I returned from Washinr^ton this 
morning and learned of your intention to go abroad less than half an 
hour ago from Miss Rachel. 

Eldridge. To be honest with you, Walter, I want to eet away from 
New York, to get away from mvself, if that were pos'^ible. 

Campbell. You have not been yourself since the murder. You 
have nothing to reproach yourself with because of that frightful inci- 
dent. 

Eldridge. Poor, little Madp-e. She loved me with that affection 
she would have held for her father, had he lived and she had known 
him. Sometimes I think, Walter, that she and mother were the only 
•women who loved me, or will ever love me. 

Campbell. I thoueht at one time. Frank, that Dollv loved you. 
Eldridge. I hoped so once. But — well, T was flnttered l)y her 
kindness, which I mistook for a sentfment that I have failed to arouse 
in her. 

Campbell. Damn it, old fellow, it is too bad. It is that senti- 
ment vou long for that is clouding your life. She has trifled with von, 
played the coquett'e, wounded your heart, and made your life wretched. 
Damn such women. 

Eldridge. I will not hear a word in reproach of Miss DeCourcy. 
Twice she saved mv life. While I doubt whether it was worth the sav- 
ing, at all events, she saved it. I love that woman, and. Walter, I will 
ouarrel with my bc^t friend if he shall intimate anything that casts a 
doubt, upon her truthfulness or calls in anestion any art of hers. 

Campbell. I cannot doubt your love for that p^irl. N-^r will I 
n-iarrel with you. I shall respect your wishes. By the way, what about 
Miss Eleanor DeCourcy? 

Eldridge. I shall not be in; America when the limitation in my 
Aunt's will expires. Time will end that miserable affair. 

Campbell. As we came in I saw Mr. Lex, Maud and Aunt Sal- 
lie in the meadow field. I propose to join them. I am glad, old fel- 
low, that you ^'in remain for our wedding. In the spring, it is prob- 
able that I will have business that will take me to London. The Madam 
and T will assuredly look you up. 

Eldridge. I'd be offended if you did not. (Exit Cainhbell.) 
Thank heaven! Maud and Walter are haoov, and they deserve happi- 
ness. (About to foUo-iv Cainphrll. ivJicn Dolly rises and. evidently cm- 
barrnssed. apf>roaehes Eldridac.^ 

Dolly. Mr. Eldridge — one moment. 

Eldridge. Miss Dolly. (Extends his hand.) I did not know that 
you were here. 

Dolly. Yon are eoinr^ abroad. You must not go in ie-norance of 
the deception I have practiced towards you. I did not design to mis- 
lead you, but your mistake t^ave the opoortunity, and I permitted you 
to continue in your error, making no attempt to undeceive you. 
Eldridge. Do not accuse yourself of any wrong to me. 
Dolly. You shall hear the naked truth, should it even earn for 
me your contempt. 



,4 MISS DeCOURCY. 

Eldridge. You are overwrought now. Defer this matter for the 

present. , ■ , i i j i 

DoLLV. I have masqueraded before you and this household long 
enoueh. You and they are ignorant of my true personality. 

Eldridge. You are not a married woman? 

Dolly. No. But I am Eleanor DeCourcy, the girl who came be- 
tween you and your Aunt ; who robbed you of your birthright. Dolly 
was Miss Lloyd's pet name for me, and gradually others adopted it 
until only in legal documents was I known as Eleanor. 

Eldridge. I have never accused you of wrong, either as Dolly or 
Eleanor DeCourcy. 

Dolly. No. You found justification, not reproaches, for your 
Aunt's liberality to me. On my honor, I had no knowledge of the pro- 
vision in her will making your inheritance contingent upon my mar- 
riage to you. Mr. Lex, after the will was read, told me of that condi- 
ti'^n. T never in my life spoke to your Aunt about the disposition of 
her property. 

Eldridge. I accepted the disposition Aunt made of her estate, and 
would not even now change it, only in that I regret she did not be- 
Queath to you absolutely all she had. I think there is nothing that 
needs explanation. 

Dolly. You must listen to me. I shall conceal nothing from you. 
(JVcet^s.) I am so unhappy. 

Eldridge. Then tell me briefly. (Aside) It is best for her. 

Dolly. When I visited the Cedars last fall, it was with the one 
purpose of meeting you, Mr. Eldridge. I came that I might suggest 
your acceptance of nine-tenths of the estate your Aunt had willed to 
me. Our first meeting was accidental. When you told me who you 
were, without thought, I used the pet name vour Aunt had Hven me. 
forgetful that it would not reveal to you that I was Eleanor DeCourcy. 
When I saw the mistake into which you had fallen by reason of the 
names, partly in jest I let you remain ienorant of my individuality. I 
have permitted that error to continue until now. Your gentleness and 
considf^rntion for the woman, who had unwittingly done harm to yni: 
pleased yet annoyed me at first. Afterwards I refrained from dis- 
closing the truth, fearing that my confession might forfeit for me your 
respect. 

Eldridge. It could not do that. While Frank Eldridge lives he 
\^-\]\ remain your debtor for the haopiest hours that have come intohi.s 
life. 

Dolly. I am not wholly dependent upon Miss Lloyd's bequest for 
my maintenance. From mv grandparents I received twenty thousand 
dollars. I want you, Mr. Eldridge, to promise me that when I am of 
age you will accept a transfer of everything I am entitled to receive 
bv your Aunt's will. 

Eldridge. You once before proposed to renounce your rights un- 
der that will. This is the same proposition in another form. Whv. 
should I change my resolution now? 

Dolly. Because T w^ant you to. Because I — 

Eldridge. I cannot promise that. 

■Dolly. Then you will share it with me? 

Eldridge. (Coming close to her.) Share it with you? There is 
but one way I could share it with you. 

Dolly. And that is? 

Eldridge. If I were your husband. It is not the money I want, 
Dolly. It is you — you, I crave. I have loved you from the moment 
when we met near the old stile in the woods, the day you saved me 



MISS DeCOURCY. . 35 

from Dan's first niurderoiis attempt upon my life. Will you give your- 
self to me? (Attempts to take her hand.) Will you, Dolly? 

Dolly. I did not, indeed I did not, anticipate this. 

E'ldridge. I was mad to say what I did — to hope that you could 
ever love me. Forget my words, as if they had never been uttered. 
Forget that I have ever crossed your path, or given you an hour's un- 
easiness. (Paces stage. Looks at i*.'atch.) Miss DeCourcy, I have 
barely time in which to catch the Southbound train for New York. 
Say to these people that I was so hurriedly called away that I could not. 
apprise them of my departure. Good-by, Miss DeCourcy. I regret that 
I have done aught to annoy you. (Holds out hand, zvhich Dolly ap- 
pears not to notice.) Good-by. (Picks uh hat and zvalks to door.) 

Dolly. (Extending her hand in entreaty.) Do not go. You 
•must not go. Frank, I shall die if you turn from me now. (Plldridgc 
embraces her.) 

Eldridge. You do love me, Dolly? 

Dolly. Yes. Never, I think, has woman loved man more disin- 
terestedly, more wholly than I love you. 

Eldridge. And you will be my wife? 

Dolly. Yes. (He kisses her.) Do not despise me, Frank, when 
I confess that I was jealous of Madge's love for you. 

Eldridge. If she were here now, no one would rejoice more in my 
happiness than Madge. 

Dolly. Frank, I think it was envy more than jealousy, for Madge 
filled the full measure of the apostles' test of love in that she laid down 
her life for yours. Yet, Frank, when Madge was dying, her last whis- 
pered words to me were to care for you, to love you, to be your wife. 
I promised her, and yet because she had sacrificed more for you than I 
could I was jealous of that dear e^irl's love for you. It was wicked 
in me. (He pets her. Enters Maud, Campbell, Aunt Sallie, Rachel 
and Mr. Lex.) 

Mr. Lex. Well, Frank, how's this? You assured me you did not 
know Eleanor DeCourcy. Yet I find you conversing with her as 
though you and she were most excellent friends. 

Dolly. But Frank did not know, Mr. Lex, until a moment ago 
that Eleanor and Dolly DeCourcy were the same individual. 

Maud and Campbell. You Eleanor DeCourcy? 

Eldridge. And w^hat is more, Mr. Lex, in order to prevent future 
uncertainties as to the dual Misses DeCourcy, this young lady has con- 
sented to become Mrs. Frank Eldridge. 

Maud. Walter, we shall succeed in marrying Dolly DeCourcy to 
Frank E'ldridge. (To Dolly.) I suppose I wall now have to forego the 
good shaking you so well deserved? 

Campbell. You both know how glad I am that the vexatious will 
question has at length reached such a happy solution. 

Dolly. Frank and I have reached this solution : We have decided 
that the estate left to me by dear Aunt Elean)3r shall be divided equal- 
ly between us. 

Aunt Sallie. But the other half million — will that go to the in- 
sane asylum ? 

Dolly. I suppose so. / 

Rachel. Well, now, I declare. That's just too bad-. Mr. Lex, 
ain't you lawyer enough to circumvent that. 

Lex. That depends. Frank, you still propose to go abroad? 

Eldridge. I have accepted the trust, and I must stand to my agree- 
ment. 



r^r^~r 1 A 1 nnO 



36 MISS DeCOURCY. 

Lex. And you, Eleanor? Is Frank to go alone to encounter the 
temptations and allurements of London? 

Dolly. No— that is — Frank must decide for me. 

Lex. Well, Miss Rachel, if Frank Eldridge and Eleanor De- 
Courcy become man and wife at any time within the next two months 
the condition of Miss Lloyd's bequest to Frank will be fulfilled, and 
the half-million will be Frank's. Otli^rwise, the trustees of the asy- 
lum, named in the will, will receive certainly a snug sum of money. 

Eldridge. But Dolly must decide. I, Frank Lloyd Eldridge, am 
prepared to meet the conditions upon which my share in Aunt Eleanor's 
estate depends. 

All, (Saz'c Frank.) It is up to you, Dolly. 

Dolly. Well, under the circumstances, if I must decide: Three 
weeks hence there will be no Dolly nor Eleanor DeCourcy — but — but — 
{gk'es her hands to Eldridge) — all correspondence addressed to either 
of those ladies will receive due attention' from Mrs. Eleanor Eldridge. 
(Curtain falls.) 



1902 



„['^"ARY OF CONGRESS 

015 973 566 7 • 




